Lady of the Waves
by LolaStark
Summary: After whispers of an uprising of Targaryen supporters reach King's Landing, the Stag King orders these rebels found out. Robb and Jon are sent to discover the traitor's identities, but in order to do so, they must also win the trust of a forbidden faith's pagan mistress. Reluctant farm girl, Aelyra, born on the islands known as the Three Sisters, might be their only hope AU RobbxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Lady of the Waves**

**by LolaStark**

**A/N: Welcome to my new story! This is will be fairly AU but with several canon events that I will throw in there - perhaps a little out of order. I just wanted to spice up the timeline a little and I hope you will enjoy it! xoLola**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or plotlines from George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire or HBO's Game of Thrones. I only own my original characters and my plots, and seek to write this only for entertainment.**

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**|Chapter One|**

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There was never a storm more inconvenient than the one that night.

There was no moon, only rain that poured down heavily, stinging the eyes of the riders as they did their best to stay on the path that was now long lost in the darkness and muddy forest. They had been wandering for far too long, not knowing how soon until the sky would lighten with the morning sun.

Thunder and lightning moved them along quickly as they searched for shelter in this secluded part of the island of Sweetsister. It wasn't the most welcoming of places, they'd discovered upon arrival and Ned Stark bloody side served as proof. He held his ribs with only a small furrow in his brow as they rode, unwilling to show his sons how much pain he was in though he was certain they knew the wound was more than a mere scratch.

Reavers, as it turned out, were every bit as vile as their reputation. Ned had faced standard pirates in his youth, but never had he been so ill-fated to run into a group of reavers, intent on taking everything they could get their hands of, even if it was at another's expense. Any resistance was futile and had ultimately landed three of his men dead, whilst he suffered from a sword to ribs intended for Robb's back.

They'd only been able to keep three of the horses, stranding the last three of the men he had left back at the harbor whilst he, Robb, Jon and Theon made for shelter. There were no healers at the small docking point and the ship's captain was taken captive by the reaver's leader. They'd had little choice but to dock where they could find land and set off for anyone who might have a healer's touch.

"You're losing too much blood, My Lord!" Theon shouted over the rain and it was then that Ned realized he had been losing consciousness.

The sound of the rain was muted and his eyes could not stay focused on the sites ahead of him. Robb dismounted his horse and gave the reins to Jon, and then mounted behind his father. Ned felt slight relief as he let his son take over, and he leaned back as Robb ushered them through the storm.

"I will be alright," Ned said, his breathing becoming labored as he fought to stay awake.

"There must be someone nearby, didn't the man at the shore say this here area was full of farmers?" Jon asked and Robb shook his head.

"Not likely to find any farmers in the woods," he said contemplatively.

Ned tried to concentrate on his surroundings as a flash of lightning burst around him. For a split second the forest was lit up and he could have sworn he'd seen a stream. He raised his hand and pointed in that direction. Robb took note, straining his eyes to see what his father had seen but darkness and rain was blinding them once more.

"Cross the stream," Ned told him quickly. "Surely they'll be someone close by."

As it turns out, it was only a half mile over the stream before Theon's horse came to a halt first at the wooden barrier none of them had seen until it was before them. Over the rain they could hear the slight clattering of livestock, sensing their presence. It was Robb who found the farmhouse door, the unmistakable smell of a fire smothered in the night rising from the chimney top.

His knocking did not seem to cause a stir within the house at first. He thought about, perhaps, walking in unannounced but thought better of it as he saw a lamp lit through the thick windows. He could see it coming closer to the door and he stepped back as it opened, revealing an older boy holding a lantern in one hand and some sort of knife in the other.

"What do you want?" he asked, looking up at Robb curiously. His light eyes then travelled to the three men behind him, both Jon and Theon helping his father towards the door.

"My father is injured," Robb said calmly, his voice carrying over the rain. All the while his eyes fixed on the small blade held firmly in the boy's hands. "He needs tending to."

The boy looked at him skeptically and then towards the three men at Robb's back, paying close attention to the older of the four. He sighed then, reluctant as he widened the door and stepped back as he finally answered,"Come in, but please be quiet."

Robb wasted no time in ushering his father in, towards the closest chair he could find. His father groaned as he was lowered down and Robb pulled back his hand to see more blood than when they'd left the shore a few hours prior.

"Our horses have been in this rain for hours, is there a place to-" Theon started and the boy, who Robb noticed was not so much a boy but nearly a man, pointed towards the back.

"There is room in the barn," he said quickly, grabbing a few items from a cupboard and setting them on the table.

Theon ran out to tend to the horses whilst Jon and Robb watched the boy anxiously as he prepared the tools, a needle and thread as well as some fairly clean rags. But as soon as the tools were settled neatly on the table, he did not go to their father, but instead towards the fireplace where he began placing logs and kindling to strengthen the flames.

"I could do that," Robb offered quickly. "If you need to work on him."

The boy looked up at him in surprise, his furrowed brow showing that Robb had clearly misunderstood something.

"No," he said, shaking his head in realization. "You wouldn't want that. I'd do more harm than good."

"But the tools-" Jon started but the boy interrupted.

"My sister's," replied the boy. "She will be home soon. And I put them out as not to waste time when she does arrive."

"And when will that be?" Robb exclaimed. "It's the middle of the night. My father cannot withstand much more bleeding."

"It'll be morning soon enough," he corrected. "She's always home before dawn. And she might need convincing when she sees you. I'll see to that."

"Convincing?" Jon questioned,his voice sour. "Won't a bleeding man be convincing enough?"

"Afraid not," the boy said, unconcerned. "You're Northmen aren't you?"

"And?" Robb asked. "What of it?"

"Sistermen usually aren't very fond of us Northmen," Robb heard his father say as he struggled to stay awake, cringing as he chuckled half-heartedly.

"And you?" Jon asked and the boy shrugged. "You don't seem to hold much prejudice. Letting us in without even knowing who we are."

"Ah, you look fine enough. Highborns, I'd guess by the looks of you. Northern highborns are generally harmless to poor folk like me."

"My name is Robb St-"

Robb didn't get the full name out before his father cleared his throat loudly, signalling him to that he'd already said enough. The boy had not been blind to the look between the three men and he grinned, knowingly, before looking back down at the fireplace.

Soon enough there was a flame, and it grew steadily whilst Robb paced the room eagerly. The room was dim, and quite small he realized. There was space enough to move about freely, but he still felt cramped in the small dining area. For as small as it was and for how few items donned the quaint little home, everything was surprisingly tidy. Whoever was responsible for the upkeep certainly liked things to be in their proper place.

It was not long before he heard voices outside, escalating into shouts. The boy was quick to the door as Robb ran after him.

Once the door was opened the wind began blowing the rain in sideways. The roar of the storm could not muffle the yelling. Both he and the boy stood wide-eyed at the sight of Theon with his knife against a woman's throat, pushing her up against the house. Her eyes soon darted to Robb, and he could almost make out her features in the darkness though he did not waste time straining his eyes before he pulled Theon away from her.

"Hells Theon! What are you doing?" Robb shouted as Theon struggled out of his grasp.

"What am I doing?" Theon asked. "Ask her! She's the one who attacked me! Bloody wench!"

"You were stealing my horse, thief!" she shouted, holding her neck where Theon's hands had previously been.

In the dim light from inside, Robb could see that water was dripping from her lashes and her lips. Her fair hair was soaked and she stood barefoot in the mud, looking at them both with caution in her eyes.

"I am no thief!" Theon argued. "The boy told me to put our horses in the barn." He then glared over at the boy in question. "You can't just run around attacking innocent men."

"This is my farm, my land, and you and your lot are the ones trespassing. I'll do as I damn well please," she replied darkly before glancing at her brother. "Who are these men, Gavin?" she said, looking to her brother accusingly. "Have they harmed you?"

"No," the boy now known as Gavin replied, annoyed and oddly bored by the scene before him. "I let them in. The older one is wounded."

She looked at him skeptically and then pushed her way into the house just enough so that she could see the man her brother spoke of. She stood there for many moments, looking at Ned Stark who was looking weaker by the second. His eyes were closed and his breaths staggered and then she looked back.

"Northmen," she whispered, decidedly, taking a look at their clothing and Robb nodded.

"We mean no harm," Robb tried to argue, only to see Gavin shake his head, cueing him to stop talking. Robb did as he was instructed.

"So say all Northmen," she replied then grabbed hold of Gavin's arm, pushing him into the house. "Take your man and leave my farm."

"But Lyra he's-"

"Shut it, Gavin. You've already caused enough trouble haven't you?" At this her brother's frown deepened.

"You. Northman. Take your man and leave," she repeated to Robb and he shook his head.

"I cannot. Please, My Lady-"

"Ha! She ain't no lady," Theon scoffed, rubbing his head from where she'd hit him and Robb silenced him with his glare.

"He is my father and I beg of you to help him."

"We will give you gold, if that will convince you?" Jon added.

"I do not want your gold." Her tone was insulted as she glanced at Jon for a mere moment before looking back up at Robb. "He is your father? Truly?" He nodded.

It was clear she was reluctant as she stood before the men, contemplating her decision. Robb let loose a sigh of relief as her indignation gave way to her conscience and she turned, making her way towards Ned, kneeling down to see the source of bleeding. She pulled back his doublet, careless of its strings as she ripped it off, then his shift, slowly removing it as Ned struggled to help her. When she looked up, setting his clothes on the table she frowned at Robb.

"Well? Shut the door then, won't you?" she told him and it was clear by her tone that it was a command rather than a question.

Theon walked in, closing the door behind him and he immediately walked towards the fire to get warm, removing his soaked clothes one by one. Gavin stood nearby, hanging his own night clothes over the hearth for them to dry. Water fell onto the floorboards, dripping from his boots and his hair, reminding him that he was soaked through. It was then that he shivered, realizing he was too cold to be modest in front of the fair-haired woman currently tending to his father.

She glanced up then, as if she'd known he was looking in her direction and she whispered, "Don't mind me."

He wanted to say he didn't, that stripping his clothes off in front of a woman didn't embarrass him. But as a small flush of heat rose in his cheeks, it was clear that it was already too late and any opportunity to defend his modesty had long passed. Both Jon and Theon were down to their braies when they heard a creak in the floors and saw an elderly woman appear from around the dimly lit corner. She was leaning against the wall to support herself as she seem to watch them, her white hair draped over her shoulder in a disheveled braid.

"Had I known you had so much male company, my dear," she started, causing both Gavin and Lyra too look up, startled. "I would have put on a finer dress for the occasion."

"And how would you know that they are men?" Lyra asked, without looking up from Ned's side. Robb looked again to the woman and saw that her eyes were vacant of expression. She was blind.

"I don't need to see them to know that you have this house full of men," she replied with a mischievous grin.

Gavin walked over to her side and grabbed onto her arm as he spoke, "Gran, you should be in bed."

"I'm not completely helpless yet, darling," she replied with a grin, patting his hand as he helped her into the room.

"Gran come sit over here and help me work," Lyra told her Grandmother, her tone much kinder than he it had been when directed at the other men in the room. Gavin sat her down at the table next to Lyra and every so often the old woman would reach out and hand Lyra a tool, with no words passing in between them as to which she needed.

"Well," the woman said after many moments of silence. "Do not leave me in suspense, Aelyra. Tell me. Are they handsome?"

Lyra, who seemed to be most diligent and skilled at her work, did not look up at first per her Grandmother's request, but instead continued pulling the thread through Ned Stark's flesh as he would flinch every so often. She would stop periodically, taking a pitcher of wine and holding it to his lips so that he might dull the senses whilst she stitched him back together. Finally, she looked up, and took in the appearance of each of them, one by one as if inspecting meat for purchase and then let out a laugh.

"These young men are of the North," she told the woman who seemed to raise an eyebrow in curiosity. "Can Northman be handsome?"

"I have seen a fair number of Northmen in my day, all handsome with strong builds and warm hands that sent chills through-"

"I think we understand," Gavin interrupted with a laugh, appearing from another room with a handful of tunics and several blankets which he handed Robb, Theon and Jon who were now grinning at the older woman's humor.

"Oh very well," she resigned. "Have you offered them a place to rest?"

Lyra looked up then, looking at her grandmother and then to the three men by the fire. Robb caught the surprise in her eyes and noted that she had not thought they would stay longer than necessary.

"I had not-" she started but Robb interrupted her quickly.

"We have intruded long enough, madame and we will be on our way as soon as my father is fit to travel," he said, unsure if his father would even be able to move, let alone ride, once Lyra finished with him.

"Nonsense," the woman replied, insulted. "Aelyra, where are your manners? You and Gavin were planning a trip to town this morning. Why not let these young men have their rest. From the sounds of this one, he is in no fit state to travel," she noted, motioning towards Ned.

"We really should be getting to town as well, we are meant to meet with an acquaintance in Sisterton," Ned said slowly, his eyes drooping from the intake of wine and the older woman smiled.

"Oh, I daresay this one sounds quite handsome," she noted and Robb saw the corners of Lyra's straightlaced mouth curve up slightly at the ends.

"I can take you to town, whilst your father rests, milord," Gavin offered.

"Lords are they?" his grandmother asked. "Which lords might they be?"

"They refuse to say," Lyra cut in. "And Gavin you said you would tend the fields today."

"In this weather?" her brother complained, only to receive a narrowed look from her in return.

"Well then you will both go," their grandmother decided for them. "Take the men to Sisterton on your way to market. They will be no hindrance. It is only an hour from here."

"And leave you alone with a man I do not know," Lyra asked with a frown. "Don't be silly, gran."

"My father is an honorable man," Robb interjected, insulted by her insinuation and Lyra glanced up at him, shrugging her shoulders coldly.

"That may be, but not many men in these parts have any honor that I can speak of. How am I to trust your father here, or you for that matter, when you won't even tell me your names. And what's more, I do not even know how he came by such a wound. You could be smugglers the same as any man in Sisterton. If not worse, which I can assure-"

She didn't finish as a sound caused almost everyone in the room to jump slightly. That sound was Ned slamming down a dagger on the table that was normally sheathed at his hip. Lyra looked down at the blade and its holster, a leather strap that had the Stark emblem encrusted upon it alongside their name. She stared at it for several moments, as if unable to decipher it's meaning, before looking up to her brother who stepped closer to see it and his eyes widened immediately upon reading the name.

"House Stark," Gavin whispered and Robb could see he was more intrigued than his sister who was now looking down at the man under her thread.

"Child," Ned whispered to her, grabbing her hand in his and she flinched at the contact. "I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and these, my sons and ward. We do not seek to harm you or your family. We only ask-," he explained, pausing in between every other word with labored breaths. "We only ask for whatever hospitality you can spare. If we are hindrance we will leave. But please, my sons do not know these lands as I do. They will need help finding someone they can trust."

Lyra looked up into the man's deep grey eyes. Robb could see it was the first time the two truly exchanged glances since she'd arrived. Before then she'd only seen a wounded man. Now she saw a man who was the Warden in the North. Lord Eddard Stark.

When she finally spoke she said, "Gavin make up my bed for Milord Stark," and then cut the thread from his side and set her knife on the table next to his dagger. "I am Lyra," she replied, then added, "of no noble house," as if it were an afterthought. "My brother is Gavin, he is but five and ten and my grandmother is Veneranda." Ned looked to the woman.

"A name I know well," he said weakly. "You are not the same Veneranda whose daughter sailed me across the Bite to Sisterton during Robert's Rebellion?"

"The very same," the blind woman replied with a nostalgic grin. "It was my Petra, along with her father who sailed alongside you though I did not know then that you were the young Lord Stark. It seems as though I was right, Aelyra, he is indeed a handsome man if my memory serves me right. Though I am sure he has aged some."

"I have aged twenty years, madame."

"Has it really been so long?" Veneranda replied and he nodded and then turned to Lyra.

"Petra was your mother?" he asked her, taking her chin and bringing it towards the light of the dim candle that sat on the rugged table. "Yes I see it now, you have the same downturned mouth, always frowning," Ned spoke with a light chuckle. "And your hair," he told her, pulling a tendril gently towards him and examining it near the firelight. "Like the sun." She pulled her hair back then. Standing and taking her tools towards a wash pail near the window. "How old are you, child?"

"Seven and ten," she replied tensely, her reply quick. "Though my mother has been dead half that. Our sister as well."

The tone in the room seemed to change then. Eyes fell to the ground and only silence filled the air along with the tension her words had caused. Robb remembered very little of his father's story regarding the Three Sisters but he did recall a young woman and her father who helped him across the Bite. Though, as the story was told, the man did not make it back to shore. It would have been Veneranda's husband.

"Come Milord Stark, introduce me to your sons," Veneranda spoke, interrupting the silence and looking over towards the fire where she waved the three men over. Robb was at her side first, bending down and taking her outstretched hand in his. "Oh a very fine young man, I see."

"This is my eldest son, Robb," Ned introduced.

Veneranda smiled, placing her hands on Robb's shoulders and then tracing over the features of his face lightly. She stopped at his eyes, placing her fingertips over his eyelids. There was a contemplative sound from her lips then and then she removed her hands and turned her head towards Lyra.

"There is water in this one?" she told her granddaughter with a raised eyebrow. Lyra turned her head from her cleaning and glanced down at Robb, her eyes averted at first before they finally met his.

"Yes," she whispered, pausing her movements. "But not like the sea."

"No they wouldn't be," Veneranda agreed, pulling Robb to his feet. "Tully blue I'll bet. Like the rivers."

"Yes," Robb replied with a grin, thinking of his mother back at Winterfell.

She grabbed Jon's hand then, traced over his mouth and eyes as he had Robb's. Though this time she seemed to frown in confusion as she did so. Her fingertips covered her eyes as she closed her own in concentration and then let go with a sigh.

"No water in this one," Veneranda said finally. "You said this one was a Stark as well?"

"If looks are to be trusted," Lyra replied distractedly. "He certainly has his father's coloring, dark features, grey eyes."

The men all knew the reason the old woman frowned in confusion. But no one dared said the word that was hanging off her lips. Bastard. Robb had never liked the word and knew quite well that Jon had no fondness for it either. But in reality they did not share a mother, though Robb thought nothing of that fact. Jon was his brother, no matter his name.

Robb did not listen to the woman's words as she looked over Theon. He only watched as Lyra wiped a green paste over Ned's side with deep concentration, and only smiled once as her grandmother mentioned Theon's overwhelming ego. She was pleasing to look at, though Robb had not thought so at first. But now as he looked at her he couldn't help but find her comely features alluring. She was only two years his junior. Not many Northerners had such fair hair or eyes. Her skin, however, looked as though she spent a great deal in the sun and he recalled then that amidst the storm he had not seen that her land was in fact a farm.

"Come," she said, reaching under Ned's arm and Robb stepped to help her lift the man on his feet. "You ought to rest now, a day at least or you'll tear the mending."

"Thank you, Lyra," he whispered to her as Jon then took hold of his other side, relieving her of the weight on her small frame. She simply nodded in return, wiping her hands on her apron as she led them towards the room in the side of the house, just under the wooden staircase.

It was as they passed under the steps that he looked up, right as Lyra ascended slowly, her feet covered in mud. For the first time he realized she was soaked to the bone and he hadn't seen her shiver once. Slowly as she walked she loosened the ties on her dress and he tried to avert his eyes before she saw him but was too late as her eyes caught his. She didn't seem to mind either way as she glanced down at him, water dripping from her skirts and she paused her fingers from the bodice ties.

"Rest for now, Northman," Lyra instructed quietly, her features slightly hidden by the darkness of the loft she was soon to enter. "I will take you to Sisterton when the rain slows."

"Thank you My Lady," he said gratefully and her laugh in response was barely audible.

"Your thief friend was right," she told him. "I am no lady."

"Then what shall I call you?" he asked her and she shrugged.

"Lyra," she said as if it were obvious. "Though I doubt you'll have any use of it, Milord."

"Robb," he corrected and she scrunched her nose.

"It's too bad really. 'Northman' suits you."

And with those last words she disappeared into the darkness above, and he heard only the distinct sound of her wet dress hit the floor before he turned back to the bed where he lowered his father.

Theon was already lying prepping his place on the floor whilst Jon didn't seem to waste any time in closing his eyes on the mattress nearest the window. There was but a small place left next to him but Robb had long surpassed the need for sleep. He found himself a spot in the corner, a chair that sat over a small writing desk where he would rest his legs for the time being.

And when the sun rose he would be on his way to Sisterton.

And their task would begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lady of the Waves  
****by LolaStark**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter. I appreciate all the favs and follows I've received and can't wait to hear your feedback on the next chapter. You all are wonderful! xoLola**

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**|Chapter Two|**

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Sisterton was busier than he'd expected, especially since the weather was as grim as it was that morning.

Everywhere Robb looked there were hurried movements and shouts over shouts of hagglers as people sought out fair prices on the best goods. He noticed more often than not, bartering was used as the popular form of currency rather than a pocket of gold. People from all walks of life roamed the city streets, and Robb was sure he'd never seen a busier place since he'd left White Harbor. He was suddenly glad his father had requested they leave the direwolves behind. Lyra was frightened enough when she'd seen the wolves that were still small in comparison to what they would be one day.

Gavin sat in the back of the wagon, next to Robb and Jon, pointing out people here and there as they rode through the city streets. He spoke highly of the bustling town, though Robb found most of his surroundings to be strange and slightly unsettling. He'd always wanted to see the world, but he never thought he'd start with a city like Sisterton.

Lyra, unlike her brother, had not said a word since leaving the farmhouse just after dawn. She sat upon the wagon with her eyes focused on only that which was in front of her. She spared no sideways glances towards her passengers and only stopped once when Gavin jumped off the wagon to chase after a runaway pig.

Their destination was a small pocket of space in the busy market. They'd been delayed by the Starks' arrival and had therefore missed out on catching a prime spot on the main stretch of street that was wild with business. So she pulled the wagon off to the side and hopped off, tying her horse's reins to a nearby post and brushing her hands off on the plain woolen dress that she wore.

"Watch after her will you," she instructed her brother of their horse whilst she motioned to Robb and Jon to follow her. "And don't sell the pig for less than twelve silver stags!" she shouted over her shoulder as an afterthought and her brother simply grinned in response.

"Is it his first time without you watching over his every move?" Jon asked her and she took at as an insult and refused to respond as they trudged through the muddy ground, their hoods draped over them to keep the rain from drenching them once more.

The cloth was only so good. It was plain and of poor quality, but neither Robb nor Jon would complain about the clothes that had been given to them out of hospitality. Both were simply glad to be dry rather than shivering in their heavy wet furs. The plainclothes would help them blend in, Lyra had said and she was assuredly right, Robb noticed, as he glanced through the crowds.

"That's it," she told them as she stopped in front of the public house that Ned had told his sons to look for. "You sure your father wanted you to meet your man here?"

It was a rather large establishment made out of dark wood and stone. Atop the doorway was a rather crude embellished carving of a large man cutting himself out of the stomach of an even larger whale. He could only assume by that sign alone that he was in the right place.

"The Belly of the Whale, I'm sure that's it," Robb replied and she sighed and urged them forward into the midst of the chaos that was the tavern house renowned for its service to smugglers and other dangerous men.

Robb had only been to one pub outside of Winterfell on the edge of the Winter Town but never had he seen anything like the sight of the Belly of the Whale as he stepped through its doors. It was hardly mid-morning and yet nearly every table was occupied by men who looked as though they knew neither their names nor how many horns of ale they'd finished since they'd arrived. Amongst them was a variety of serving wenches who were scantily clad and filling goblets as men pawed at their bodies with hungry eyes.

Lyra seemed unbothered by the surroundings as if it were the type of place she came frequently. She carried with her a large basket, covered in cloth which she refused to let Jon or Robb carry although they'd offered. Robb found her at ease demeanor contrasting his obvious discomfort and he could have sworn he saw a small grin in the corner of her mouth when Jon dodged a young woman who grabbed hold of him with a toothless smile.

"That's Maudie," she informed them as she pulled them from the woman's grasp and ushered them through the other pairs of hungry eyes. "She'll show you a right good time for only a few coppers," she teased.

"I thought this was a pub, not a brothel," Jon asked as he straightened his tunic.

"It is," she confirmed. "But after weeks - sometimes months - on the sea without seeing a woman, men will pay almost anything for a pint of ale so long as there are females to accompany it. It's good for business, Anghus says."

"Anghus?" Robb asked her curiously and she pointed to a large bearded man behind the bar.

"He owns the place, so take care not to draw any attention to yourself. He doesn't take kindly to mischief," she advised and then paused as she caught sight of something nearby. "I expect he'll be who you're lookin' for?" she whispered, nodding towards a table in the corner just beneath a broken window that had since been boarded shut.

There, seated in a fine red and gold velvet doublet, a carefree look upon his chiseled features, was Jaime Lannister, the Queen's brother who they had most recently seen at Winterfell in the King's company. It had only been two weeks ago that the Kingslayer had departed the North alongside the King's caravan as well as Robb's sisters. Ned had been instructed by the stag king to take some Stark men to the Three Sisters to find the rebels that the whispers spoke of. Robb had no idea that their contact was to be the Lannister brat himself, a man he already had little tolerance for.

Lyra didn't wait for either of them to reply before she left them to their task and walked herself and her basket over to the bar. There she stood nearest to a tall young man with black hair and a loud laugh. He took her hand in his and kissed it playfully to which she responded by gently slapping his shoulder as she attempted to subdue a laugh. She tucked a few tendrils of her hair under the modest wimple she wore that covered the rest of her fair hair.

Jon was the one that pulled him over towards the corner of the room. As they approached Jaime looked up at them in surprise and then let out a hearty laugh that caused both young men to look around to see if anyone was sober enough to notice. But it seemed the only eyes on them were Lyra's and the young man with whom she handed her basket.

"Ned Stark too afraid to face me that he sends his sons in his place?" Jaime teased, motiong for them to site down. Jon looked at Robb who nodded and they both sat, reluctantly.

"Our ship was set upon by Reavers just off the coast prior to our arrival," Robb replied dryly, attempting to ignore the man's jab at his father. "Our father was injured in the fight. A healer outside of Sisterton helped tend to the wound but he is sentenced to bed rest until he can regain his strength."

"It's just as well," Jaime said boredly, sipping out of his wine cup. "He's quite familiar in these parts, I'm told, and I'd hate for our task to be spoiled due to whatever reputation he might have wrought for himself here."

"And no one is bound to notice you in your fine clothes, amidst peasants and smugglers in a place like this," Jon retorted angrily and Jaime chuckled.

"I am of the Kingsguard - doing the King's charge. I have no reason to hide my being here. You on the other hand-" He gestured to their clothing.

Both Stark boys were glaring at the Lannister sitting across from them and silence seemed to pass for many moments before the older of the three snapped his fingers and a barmaid came to his side quickly to pour more wine into his empty cup. He motioned to Robb and Jon who both shook their heads before Jaime insisted that they drink.

"A man who does not drink in a pub only draws suspicion to himself and those he shares his company with," he insisted. "Take a sip every few minutes and no one will give you a second glance. Well - except perhaps the women, isn't that right?" he asked, squeezing the hip of the young serving wench who giggled before walking away. "Careful of the women, boys. This island is crawling with whores. Most of them are harmless enough. Just watch out for the pagan ones. They want more than what's under your trousers."

Robb didn't have time to ask what he meant by his words because as soon as he started, he was interrupted by a separate pair of familiar hands that placed two goblets of wine in front of both Robb and Jon. It was Lyra, looking down at them with a curious glance and for all her subtlety she did not escape the glance of the Kingslayer.

"Look here. Not usually the type of girl one might find in here," he noted, pulling her by her hand and she lost her balance, falling into his lap. "So modestly dressed, with that fine hair covered." She struggled in his grasp as he pulled the wimple from atop her head, exposing her long, golden waves that fell about her and he smiled. "Fair indeed," he said twisting a few tendrils in his fingers as Robb stood suddenly.

She was able to wriggle herself out of Jaime's grasp as he let go easily, looking up at Robb with an amused smile.

"Stay your sword, Young Wolf, I was only having a look. Should be a crime to hide hair like that," Jaime replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Lyra stormed off, leaving her wimple forgotten on the floor and Robb noticed that the young man with the black hair was only a few paces from the table with his fists clenched angrily. She pulled him away, with some effort and they were once again back at the bar in, what looked to be, a heated argument.

"We came to talk about the rebellion, not to hear your insults or watch you paw after young women, Kingslayer, so talk," Robb whispered, letting down his facade of control and this seemed to please Jaime.

"Yes, the rebellion," he said, taking a long gulp out of his glass before continuing. "Robert has heard of the uprising, that there are people still loyal to the Targaryen throne and he knows that those rumors lead us to here."

"We're here based on gossip?" Jon asked bitterly and Jaime sighed.

"Rumors in King's Landing are just as deadly as the truth. We know that the Three Sisters were dragged into the Blackfyre rebellions against the Iron Throne long ago. And that there are several houses in the Vale and these islands that still champion that cause."

"The Blackfyres are all dead," Robb noted and Jaime nodded.

"Yes, the Targaryen bastards are no longer a threat to the crown, but their fight still remains. There are men who would rather see a Targaryen trueborn or otherwise, on the crown rather than a Baratheon usurper," Jaime explained. "We do not know who these rebels are but we know they still believe that there are Targaryens out there, alive and waiting for their chance to reclaim the throne."

"Are there?" Jon asked and Jaime hesitated before answering.

"We've heard word from across the sea. It is said that two of the Mad King's children survived Robert's Rebellion and they are now grown, and raising Seven only knows what kind of hell across the narrow sea. If they are allowed to step back onto Westerosi soil, there is no telling how large this rebellion could get. We're talking another war."

"And you think the four of us can locate the leader of this secret rebellion without being discovered?" Robb cut in and Jaime shook his head.

"I'm here to collect your father and bring him to King's Landing," Jaime replied. "The place of the Hand of the King is not in Sisterton, it's at the King's side."

"You're mad," Robb whispered. "We can't fight off a rebellion, just the two of us."

"We don't need you to fight them off, boy. We simply need to know whose head to summon when the time comes," Jaime said coldly.

"All the king's spies couldn't find out, what makes you think we will fare any better?" Jon retorted and Jaime shrugged.

"I'm just the messenger and I agree, I can't imagine that two wolf pups are more competent than the entirety of the Kingsguard but Robert insisted we keep this quiet." Jaime paused then, running his fingers through his golden hair and leaned back in his chair, which creaked as he did so. "There are other whispers. Whispers you may be able to use to your advantage here."

"And what would those be?" Robb asked calmly.

"There is a prophesy, the High Septon says. A prophecy made by the practicers of an old faith on these islands, pagans. He says that there are whispers of an order, a priesthood that still exists in these waters that calls for the reincarnation of one of their pagan gods. The Lady of the Waves."

"I thought that religion was wiped out with the invasion of the Andals?" Robb asked curiously.

"We all thought so, but if there are still practicers, if the order does exist, then there will be a High Priestess who we will need on our side."

Robb felt strange talking to Jaime Lannister as if they were on the same side, as if they had come from the same walk of life. In reality he and the Kingslayer could not have been more different from one another. Ned Stark didn't trust the Lannisters, and neither did his sons.

"I have a man here who will help you," he continued then, gesturing subtly to a small, balding man on the opposite end of the room. "He is a servant to Lord Triston Sunderland. Go to him for information on what goes on in that keep up on the hill. I suspect that if anyone wants to gain more power on this forsaken cesspool, then it's that man and his failure of a family. Start there and work your way through the ranks. But whatever you two get up to, don't let Lord Borrell know you're sneaking around. That's the last man you want on your trail."

"And if we find this priestess you speak of?" Robb questioned as Jaime stood to leave.

"Then Seven help you convince the bitch not to stand against us," he replied, putting on his cloak. "Give Ned my regards."

And with that he was gone, very little information given aside from whispers and theories. All they had to go on was a little man with a scar on his face and a story about some pagan priestess who may or may not help them should they find her. It was not very encouraging and he had no idea how much of it his father would be able to decypher.

At the bar they found Lyra waiting for them as she held her basket, now full of wine rather than whatever it had been full of before. This time Robb would not allow her to decline his help in carrying it and received a very unamused look from her in exchange for his chivalry. It was the man next to her that smiled knowingly down at the girl, mocking her sour expression.

"I wouldn't worry about this one," he told them, his accent thick like the Northerners Robb had known all his life. "She ain't much for people, and even less for ones trying to help 'er. She'd rather do it all 'erself than ask a man for anything."

"Quiet, Leith," she warned with a look of mock insult.

"And don' mind 'er manners neither," he joked, stepping in front of her and reaching out his arm towards them. "Name's Leith. Me dad owns this shithole."

"Robb," the eldest Stark answered with a smile, relieving some of the tension built up from the previous conversation. "This is my brother, Jon."

"No house names with those fancy accents?" he questioned and Lyra elbowed him in the side, signalling him to quit prying into their business.

"Just Robb and Jon," Robb cut in, feeling the ache as he lied for the second time that morning and realizing he was neither good at it nor very fond of the feeling.

"Aye, well yer welcome here, any time you should see fit. We keep a few rooms above. They're small, and damn uncomfortable. But it's cleaner than the stables and a right way cleaner than any'a those brothels you'll find 'cross the way."

"Thank you," Robb and Jon said at the same time and followed their guide out the door and back into the busy streets of Sisterton.

It was amazing how clean the air felt outside of the pub and Robb took in a deep breath of the cold wet air and let go the anger that had built up in his chest. Lyra told them they could walk back or catch a ride to the farmhouse if they needed to leave, but both opted to stay in the city long enough for Lyra and Gavin to sell their goods.

Robb enjoyed himself, surprisingly, helping to barter and sell things, something he had never had to do in his life. As a lord's son, Robb had never wanted for anything all his life, aside from perhaps seeing the world or to get out a few chores now and then. But now he and Jon and even their father had found themselves at the mercy of a small golden-haired girl, her brother and an elderly blind woman. Whatever help he could give to repay their hospitality was all he had to offer aside from gold which she'd already turned away once.

It was nearly the afternoon when someone finally offered Lyra a good price for the pig. He'd never seen a woman haggle so hard for anything, let alone with as much ferocity as Lyra did. She refused to give into the bullying manner of some of the men who had their eyes on her fat price pig, nor did she pay any mind to the way their eyes traveled over her body or lingered on the piece of flaxen hair that fell out of her hood where she tried to hide it.

He was impressed.

She knew what as fair and what wasn't, whether or not a man was trying to cheat her and if she could fetch a better price by passing up the first, second and often third offers they'd bid. And she always did. At the the end of the marketing day she had taken away what seemed like more goods than she'd left with as they packed up the cart. Robb and Jon could hardly find room in the back next to Gavin and their new goat. Lyra reluctantly offered one of them a spot next to her, which Robb took when Jon shook his head.

She may have been a stubborn girl with a hard exterior, she was only seven and ten after all, but Robb found in just those few short hours that it was a shield to keep people from taking advantage of her. Seeing her hair shine in the brief sunlight overhead reminded him that she was quite beautiful with the most fascinating mouth he had ever seen. It was a wonder these men kept any distance at all, especially ones he'd seen only hours before with their hands buried in some serving wench's bosom.

"Why do you cover your hair," he asked, not sure at all why he did once he saw her raise her eyebrow slightly.

"Does the reason matter?" she replied.

"It's fine hair you have there. No reason to hide it."

"Not many people 'round these parts have hair like Lyra," Gavin interrupted, taking a lazy bite from his apple. "She hates it when people stare at her."

"Just the men, really," she replied, almost playfully. "And it's no matter really. Most girls my age cover their hair, especially working in the fields. Keeps it from getting filthy."

"She already smells enough as it is, the Lord knows we don't need to add more grime to this one," her brother teased and Lyra shot him a silencing look that both Robb and Jon noticed.

It was not what he said of the 'Lord' but rather how he said it that caught their attention. Although Robb was disappointed that the playful mood had ended so quickly, he did find that it was a natural opening to ask what he'd been trying to ask all morning.

"Who do you mean by the Lord?" Robb questioned and neither Lyra nor her brother replied as only the wagon's wheels and horse hooves filled the silence. So he tried a different tactic. "They say the First Men who settled here used to worship their own gods before the Seven."

"Lord of the Skies, right?" Jon added. "And the Lady of the..Water?"

"Waves," Lyra corrected instinctively then seemed to chide herself in doing so.

"I heard rumors that there are still those who practice the old faith, right here on these islands," Robb suggested and she shrugged.

"Then they'll be the first the High Septon burns for witchcraft if he discovers who they are," she muttered, matter-of-factly.

"So you don't think they still exist?" he questioned and she shrugged.

"There are more places to these small islands than might could imagine, Northman," Lyra replied. "But as far as the order is concerned, I heard they were wiped out years ago, what was left of them. They were foolish enough for practicing out in the open. Anyone left behind wouldn't be so stupid."

"Indeed," Robb answered in a cryptic manner that made her look up at him from under her hood.

"Can you tell us anything about them, the old faith that is?" asked Jon.

"Why the sudden curiosity?" was Lyra's curious response. "Your fancy nobleman give you some reason to look for what's no longer there?"

"We are just interested," Robb lied, poorly by the knowing look in her stormy eyes. "If they are in fact, extinct, then it won't matter whether or not we're asking about them."

"There isn't much to know," she insisted and Robb noticed that the horse sped up slightly at the sound of her irritation. "When the Andals came they all but wiped out any Sistermen following the old faith and from then only a small order remained, practicing and worshiping the Lord and Lady in secret. Not that long ago, the remainder of it's followers were discovered, accused of witchcraft and tortured until they confessed. They were all burned at the stake. Every last one of them."

There was a bitterness in her voice, an anger that grew like a small flame into a wildfire as she spoke of events she claimed to know nothing of. Robb knew very little about lying, but he could see very clearly that she was holding something back. Gavin's silence was only a confirmation that both knew something more that they were saying.

"Why the skies and the waves?" Jon asked.

"I don't know," she said angrily. "Why do Northmen worship trees?"

"We don't worship them, but we pray before them," Robb countered and chuckled.

"As if there is a difference," she whispered.

"And what do you pray to?" Robb continued, rising to her tone and he felt the horse speed up again. "Trees? Waves? Or is it who? Do you pray to the almighty Seven?"

"Don't let the Septons hear you blaspheme their gods," she said lowly, pulling slightly on the reins as she realized their speed. "They haven't burnt any pagans in a long while and they already don't much like Northmen."

"So I've heard."

* * *

Lyra wasn't sure why she found Robb Stark so infuriating. His brother was nice enough, kept to himself without bothering anyone or sticking his nose where it didn't belong. In fact, Jon Snow hardly talked at all if he could help it and Lyra admired that about him. If only his brother knew when to shut up, she thought.

The water was cold against her feet, but only slightly as she stood there on the shore, watching as the lightning lit up the sky beneath the thick clouds. Thunder barrelled down across the sky and she smiled as she walked deeper into the waves, feeling her feet sink into the sand beneath her feet and between her toes. She didn't bother lifting the thin fabric of her night dress as she walked further out until the water reached her ankles, then her upper calves.

She closed her eyes, humming as she tried to rid herself of the distraction of the Northman with his piercing gaze. For so much water in his eyes the man was more earth than anything. He was grounded and careful,clinging to his honor as if it was his last virtue which it was assuredly not.

Robb Stark was full of virtues, and all of which seemed to irritate her the more time they spent together. It had been three days since his arrival and each day her grandmother insisted they stay another, at least until Lord Stark was fully healed and well on his way to King's Landing. Then Lyra would insist that they take up residence in the city and far away from her farm.

She felt a hand on her neck that caused her to jump slightly and she turned quickly to see that it was only Leith with a mischievous smile on his mouth as he spoke.

"Jumpy tonight, are we?"

"You would be too if you were constantly dodging strangers in your own home," she murmured but he'd heard her easily over the roar of the waves. "Did you know they have direwolves? No one has seen a direwolf south of the wall in hundreds, maybe thousands of years and yet they have two - more than two they said. They said there is one for each of them."

"Even the bastard boy?"

"His name is Jon," corrected Lyra with a disapproving glare and he nodded.

She had never liked the term 'bastard', knowing that she and her brother were likely bastards of some no one her mother had met long ago. Leith may have been poor but he'd never known what it was like to wonder who his family was. He had a father, Anghus who had followed a black haired beauty from his home in the North all the way to the hellhole that was Sisterton. She died of an unknown illness several years after Leith was born and if it hadn't been for the pub, he'd have taken them back to the North. Some place called Ram's Gate that she knew nothing about.

Leith was her best friend. She had known him since they were children, though he was a couple years older. He was about the age of the Stark boys, but nowhere near as serious as they were. He, like Robb Stark, had no water in his demeanor. Leith was all skies, carefree and kind-hearted, both things Lyra would never be.

"Did he ask you about it?" Leith whispered, taking her hand as they made their way into the crashing waves, holding her up as she stumbled slightly.

"Yes," she whispered, looking behind her into the darkness and saw only more darkness aside from the small fire on the beach. "They're looking for them, whatever is left of the order, but I don't know why they are bothering. Their quest will be all for naught."

"You don't know that. There could be more of them, not on Sweetsister but perhaps Littlesister," he suggested but she shook her head.

"We watched them burn, Leith. All of them. If there were more out there, then why am I stuck here? Why haven't they sought me out?"

"Maybe it's like your gran said," he told her as she pulled her hand from his, finding his touch claustrophobic. "Maybe Gwyn was chosen and not you."

She didn't say anything as he said it, though perhaps she should have. Every second she let pass in silence was another second that made her sound as if she actually cared about being chosen. Being chosen was a curse. Being chosen meant your life was not your own, nor your death. No, Lyra did not want to be chosen, she told herself. But she knew she was special and that her time here was wasted.

"Gwyn is dead," she whispered finally, her voice cracking slightly. Finally they were deep enough that she turned onto her back, lying against the water, riding the waves as they passed under her. Every so often she would feel Leith bump into her and she realized how insensitive her comment must have sounded. "I always thought you'd marry her, you know."

"I might 'ave," he said a small smile on his lips. "We were just kids then but there was always something I liked about 'er. About both of you," he added.

"You know she might have done it, even though it was against our beliefs," she told him and even though she couldn't see him in the blackness she knew he was smiling.

"Even she thought that rule was rubbish."

"It wasn't a rule, Leith. It was a way of life, our virtues don't condone marriage."

"She would have married me," he insisted with a laugh. "Maybe that's why I could see myself with 'er and not you. Yer too stuck on your virtues."

She cringed at his words then, realizing she had criticised Robb Stark for the very same thing.

"If they are alive, the order," she whispered. "Do you think they'll help them."

"What did you see?" he asked her and she didn't want to admit that she hadn't seen anything of use. Lyra was cursed with flashes of things yet to pass, but flashes were not always easy to decipher as she had learned long ago. And never did she see anything good.

"Nothing helpful, not yet at least," she replied, reaching out and touching his hand lightly as she saw a flash of Leith. The flash that was always the same, the flash of his cold and lifeless eyes. These cursed visions were subject to change. But for whatever reason, Leith's fate always remained the same in her mind. But what she saw for the Starks seemed somewhat darker. "Death," she whispered, pulling her hand back. "Death surrounds the Stark family. And it all begins with Lord Eddard."

"I thought you said he was healed."

"Not here," she explained. "This place is warm, you can see the sun piercing down on his headless body. And behind him a boy smiles. A boy with yellow hair and evil in his eyes."

Leith waited a while before asking, "and then?"

"And then?" she whispered to herself, shaking her head. What came after, she didn't know. "And then there is nothing. Ned Stark is going to die."

* * *

**A/N: I know already did an author's note at the beginning but I wanted to thank you again for checking out chapter 2. Please review with any comments or questions you have. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Lady of the Waves  
****by LolaStark**

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. I feel as though I should clarify, however, that the Three Sisters and the religion that was practiced by the First Men who settled there is entirely GRRM's creation. There is very little (really none) detail about that religion but I did what research I could and drew from that. Everything else about the religion I made up for the story. If you haven't noticed by now, I like to take obscure details from GRRM's world and expand upon them. Alright enough rambling...let's get to it. xoLola  
**

* * *

**|Chapter Three|**

Lyra was fuming in the corner, her hair dripping wet. But no one paid her any mind.

It had been decided, without her consent and despite her strong objection, that Robb and Jon would stay at her farm whilst Ned and Theon traveled to King's Landing.

It was on the fifth day of their unwelcomed stay, when the sun finally peaked out from the clouds and made itself known after a long week of rain, when the decision had been made. The sun was slowly rising, lighting hitting the ground of the damp fields and morning was finally upon them. Lyra had no time for looking after grown men and she certainly did not wish to spend any more time in their company when there was work to be done. The fields would need tending in their state and she was not about to let her brother stay idle for one day longer.

She had woke early that day, packing a few things for Ned Stark and his Greyjoy ward's journey to King's Landing. She wasn't sure why she bothered. She had no fondness for the Northmen who plagued her farm. But Lord Stark was kind enough and King's Landing was a long way from the Three Sisters and while she had no interest in prolonging their stay, she certainly wasn't about to let them starve on their journey south.

But still she wasn't happy at her grandmother's insistence that the Stark Northmen would stay in her home - taking her room, she might add. There was plenty of space in town. Plenty of rooms available in those filthy inns nearer to where they were intending to start their quest anyways.

But her protesting was all for naught. She was outvoted by her own family. Gavin liked the thought of two men nearer his age. Two men who knew the art of wielding a sword, something Lyra had always forbidden him from. Two men who had won over her grandmother with sweet words and one touch of her hand.

She had lost the battle before it had even begun. And now she was stuck with them.

"You can't stay," Lyra tried to muster once again and then glanced up at her grandmother. "They can't stay. You said yourself that we draw too much attention to ourselves here. How can you expect us to get anything done with these two drawing every wandering eye in our direction. People know there are only three of us, Gran. People will know they are strangers. You should have seen them in town. They drew every eye to them like a fly to honey."

"I am sure those looks had more to do with their handsome faces than anything. Sisterton is always full of new faces." Lyra scoffed at this. "Oh Aelyra, you are so stubborn," Veneranda said softly as if it were some great joke that Lyra did not understand. "These boys are a blessing from the Lady herself." Lyra knew the words had not gone unnoticed by the two Northmen at her kitchen table but she chose to ignore their curious expressions. "You and Gavin cannot harvest the land yourself. Now that I cannot help you will need more hands."

"We would not be idle, my Lady," spoke up the elder of the two Stark boys and she frowned though didn't bother correcting him, giving up on all hope that he'd realize he was addressing a peasant.

"Oh?" she asked, her hands on her hips, her mouth down turned into a tight frown. "And what do two fancy highborns like the two of you know about working a field? I imagine a house like yours has a castle, with plenty of peasants to work them for you."

Both Jon and Robb looked at one another and Lyra smiled smugly, knowing she was right.

"We have both been in the fields before," contradicted Robb quickly. "We know what needs to be done and we're strong enough to do things that might otherwise be difficult for-" Robb did not finish his sentence as Lyra's eyebrow raised, baiting him to continue but the look on her brother's face, and Jon's told him that perhaps he should keep quiet. And so he did.

"I don't need help from anyone," was Lyra's sour reply and Robb was beginning to see just how stubborn she was.

She had a field that was nearly ready to harvest and livestock that needed tending. And it hadn't escaped Robb's attention that her mare was ready to give birth any day. He and Jon could birth a colt. He'd seen it done dozens of times as a boy and had even lent a hand a time or two.

Both he and Jon had been given a better life than most, for that he wouldn't complain. But Ned Stark did not promote idleness in his children and Robb had no desire for a life of luxury. Lyra saw him as a Lord, as a highborn Northman who had been pampered all his life. But how could he prove that the Starks were hardworking and honorable people?

"There is no more argument to be had Aelyra," Veneranda said, her voice more stern than he'd heard it before. "The boys will stay until their duty is complete." She then turned to Robb and Jon with her unseeing eyes. "Milords, we would be happy to offer you our home. We are of humble means but we will keep your bellies full and your clothes clean."

At that Lyra stormed out, forgetting that she was still dripping wet from wherever she disappeared to in the early hours of the morning before the sun rose. Robb watching her slam the door and shout out in frustration as she walked off with no particular destination in mind.

"If we are a burden madame-" started Robb, but Veneranda held up her hand for him to stop speaking, which he did.

"My granddaughter is a stubborn girl, still a child in some ways. She holds great prejudice with highborns, as you might have noticed. She will not take to either of you without some encouragement. But have faith in her. She has a good heart, but she is so full of water in her spirit," she spoke.

Robb saw the woman's sightless eyes focus on him but he did not say a word.

* * *

Lyra packed the horses with an unsettling feeling in her stomach as she watched Ned Stark smile at his sons. She tried to shake the images from her eyes, the sun piercing down over a red city, Ned Stark looking out at a crowd with all the hope drained from his eyes. What kind of place was King's Landing if it could take a man like the one before her and reduce him to such a state?

Her movements were paused, her fingers holding tightly onto the straps of the saddlebag as she watched the three men, intruding on their moment as perhaps she should not have. But she couldn't help but see the look in Robb's eyes as he looked up at his father, a large grin on his mouth. Jon too was smiling, holding back a laugh as they said something she could not hear.

"That is my family," a voice said from behind her and she turned to see the Greyjoy boy standing over her, a frown on his face as he placed his hands on either side of her against the horses saddle. She was trapped there, looking up into his eyes and his vicious sneer. "See that they are well when I return."

He was threatening her, she realized. She and Theon had not spoken much since she'd found him in her barn the night of their arrival. But she didn't have much to say to him. His glances were unnerving enough that she kept his distance and he had still yet to admit he was nearly bested by a girl.

She ignored the threat and turned back to the saddlebag as she prepared Lord Stark's horse for departure but he grabbed her exposed wrist and pulled her so she was facing him once again but she shut her eyes against the images flashing in place of his cold glare and his words fell on her deaf ears as she tried to rid her mind of screams. His screams.

"Did you hear me!?" he shouted then and the connection was interrupted by Ned who stepped between them.

Her eyes flashed open then and she saw Ned looking down at her curiously and he whispered something to Theon who walked back towards his horse with his frown only deepening as he did so. She pulled back as Ned tried to put a hand on her shoulder and he saw her unease and lowered his hand back to his side.

"We thank you for your hospitality," were his words and she nodded.

"I have placed some fresh bandages in your saddlebag as well as some fresh ointment that I made this morning. Do be sure to change the dressing every evening if you can. I am sure they have sufficient healers in the capital, but do not let them try to remove the stitches before the fortnight," she explained diligently, showing him each thing she'd packed in his saddlebags and he would chuckle every so often as she explained something in great detail. "There is enough food for you and your men to last until week's end, I am sorry I did not have more to-"

"You have done enough, child," he interrupted. "Now, look after my boys. See that they don't go getting themselves into trouble."

"I ought not to make promises I cannot ensure that I can keep," she replied over her shoulder as she wrung out her hair and she felt herself unable to hold back a grin.

He chuckled again before mounting his horse with ease, a slight grimace on his face from her stitching of his side. His men followed suit and they gave one last wave to Robb and Jon before heading off on the path towards the harbor. Gavin stood at her side, waving until they were out of view.

It wasn't until they had disappeared behind the length of trees in the distance that Robb turned to see that both Lyra and her brother were no longer at their sides, but instead already standing in the fields, Lyra's simple wool dress dragging through the mud. She hadn't bothered to change out of her wet dress, simply covered her hair with a linen cloth and rolled her sleeves.

Robb couldn't help but feel disappointed as the last flaxen tendrel was pushed up underneath the cloth and hidden away for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

As quick as Robb was to volunteer both he and Jon to the task of working the fields, it was only a few hours later, when the sun was directly above them with no clouds to shield the sun's relentless blaze, when he realized he might have underestimated the ease of it all.

He'd been in the fields before, long fields that littered the North. He and Jon would play as children with a few boys from the village. But he certainly had never realized how much work went into a day's worth of harvest. Standing, pulling, cutting, all whilst the sun was beating down upon them had left him exhausted only in a matter of hours.

Meanwhile, Lyra and Gavin never seemed phased by the persistent heat and the unfortunate lack of breeze that the afternoon thrust upon them.

Gavin brought them water from the well behind the house and Robb wasted it most of it, pouring it over his head and letting the cool liquid rush down over his hair, face and neck. It was a refreshing break, one that Lyra did not take part in as she cut through the barley with her sickle in hand. She stopped for only a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow, trailing her fingers down her neck as the wind blew a cool breath of air upon the fields. Out fell a piece of her hidden hair, shining like gold in the sunshine, like the color of the barley she cut from the soil beneath muddy boots.

Robb could not help himself as he watched it dance in the wind.

"She's a determined one, is she not?" Jon mused as he sipped the water and pulled his shirt over his head. Robb followed suit, the heat too much for the woolen tunic that was now clinging to his skin with sweat.

"The rain gave us a late start," Gavin replied, handing them each an apple from the tree behind the house. Robb felt his stomach growl as he looked at it. "She'll most likely be out here until nightfall. The harvest makes for long weeks and late dinners. I hope you don't mind."

"Well, we did say we'd earn our keep, didn't we?" Robb replied, biting into the apple with a smirk on his lips and Gavin laughed.

There were many moments of silence that were followed by laughter as Grey Wind and Ghost started playing in the mud nearby and then rushed into the fields, knocking Lyra over in the process as they then proceeded to cover her face with their floppy tongues. They called Ghost off of her quickly, but Robb's direwolf refused to dispose of his playful demeanor.

It took both Robb and Jon to pull Grey Wind away as he excitedly sniffed Lyra who was frowning beneath her hands, trying to block the direwolf with little success. When Robb finally was able to pull Grey from where he was perched, rather precariously, under a squirming Lyra, he could not keep from laughing at the sour look on her face as Jon helped her on her feet. Her hair was half peeking out of her cloth cover and her linen colored dress was covered in muddy pawprints belonging to Grey Wind the direwolf.

She looked as if she was ready to scold him, and his master, for the mishap. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she closed it again. She placed her hands on her hips, not bothering to straighten her dress as she caught her breath and recomposed herself. The longer she didn't speak, the lower Robb's smile fell. Anticipation grew and he could only imagine what she was about say as she frowned down at the two direwolves who stared up at her with their tongues flopped out, panting heavily with wagging tails.

When she finally did speak, however, it was not the words he had expected. She inched closer to Grey Wind and placed a hand atop his head, and then looked up at Robb expectantly.

"They'll need a bath before supper," she said simply, patting the pup's head once more. "And so will you," she told the three men looking down at her with surprise in their eyes. "We've done enough for today," she said, looking at the sun that was beginning to shrink in the sky. "I'll have supper started and then draw you a bath," she explained. "Gavin, prepare a fire so I can heat some water for our lordly guests."

"Surely, madame we can draw our own baths?" Robb offered and she shrugged.

"It is no chore to me. But if you insist-," she explained. "Come, boys," she urged to Grey and Ghost who followed her eagerly towards the forest where she had emerged just as the sun was rising that morning.

"Where is she going?" Jon asked Gavin who had already begun gathering the tools from their days work.

"The shore's not far from here, about a mile or so. She'll probably take them for a swim."

"Do direwolves know how to swim?" Jon pondered.

All Robb could do was shrug, left to wonder the same thing for himself as he watched the barefoot girl disappear into the cover of trees in the distance.

* * *

Supper was laid out on the table just after the sunset.

The night was much cooler than the day had been, the ocean breezes finally coming inland and cooling its inhabitants. The cold in the air made Robb miss home. He thought of his mother by Bran's bedside, waiting for him to wake up and he wondered if she'd even know where to send a letter if he did. Perhaps his father had written to her, Robb decided. He and Jon were specifically forbidden, but assuredly their father had told someone where they were.

Lyra was cleaning the dishes from the table, a task which Robb had attempted to take over only to have her refuse, more than once until he finally took the hint. So instead he sat by the fire with a full belly and a wooden goblet full of wine. Jon was long to bed, having skipped most of dinner in favor for the warm bed in the loft to rest his tired eyes.

Gavin was barely awake himself, leaning with his back against his Gran's legs as she pulled her fingers through his hair. Ghost and Grey Wind hand found their places by the fire, the pups who were now larger than they'd been the week before, seemed to be indulging in the pleasure of full bellies and a warm place to sleep. Lyra, meanwhile, hummed to herself as she scrubbed the plates, stacking them neatly where they belonged, not a single dish out of place.

"Come, Aelyra, the plates will still be here in the monring. Why not come sing us a song," Veneranda whispered and the humming suddenly stopped.

Lyra looked up from the wash basin in the corner to where her grandmother sat by the crackling fire and then to Robb. She shook her head then and cleared her throat.

"Snow is sleeping and our loft has no walls. Even so, it much too late for singing. I too should be-"

"Nonsense," Veneranda replied to her granddaughter's protests. "Our Lord Stark would surely love to hear a song, wouldn't you dear?"

"My mother used to sing to us often. Back at Winterfell," Robb explained and Lyra put down her towel. "I would not protest to something to keep my mind from my brother."

"Lyra knows a few Northern songs, what is that one, dear? The one about the girl from the winter town who falls in love with the farm boy?" asked Veneranda.

"I don't know, Gran, can't we just-" she started but Robb, curious to hear the sweet sounding lyrics from her voice, interrupted her.

"The Winter Maid," Robb supplied when Lyra refused and he did not bother to look towards her where a frown would be pointed in his direction.

"Yes, yes, that is the one. Lyra loves that song. Come darling, sing it for the boy," she instructed but Lyra responded by leaving the room, Veneranda's chuckle following. "The poor dear is shy in front of you, child."

"Does she sing often?" he asked and she nodded, taking a sip from her own glass as she stared sightlessly into the fire.

"She has a voice like the Lady herself. Absolutely beautiful. Her mother couldn't sing a lick. Nor her sweet sister Gwyn. But Aelyra was blessed with the gift. And I force her to indulge me whenever I can."

If Robb hadn't caught the older woman's odd choice of words, he might have asked more about Lyra's singing. Lyra was a strange girl and he could not help but wonder why she was so averse to him and Jon. Sure they were Northman, but there was something else in her demeanor, even around others that he found curious.

"I have heard very little about this Lady of the Waves, you speak of," Robb ventured and saw the corners of the woman's lips curve up into a knowing grin.

"Yes, Aelyra told me you were asking questions. She said you were searching for the Order." she replied.

"I know not if it will even make a difference, but I was told by my contact in Sisterton, and his man, about a prophecy. The prophecy mentions a woman, a second coming of sorts to this Lady of the Waves. I am told if I can find her, if she exists, that she may be able to help me quell a rebellion against the throne."

"A rebellion you say?"

"Yes," Robb finally replied. Veneranda was no threat and certainly not a woman with any vendetta against King Robert. "Do you know this prophecy?"

She was silent for several seconds, contemplating his words as she stroked Gavin's hair. The boy's eyes were closed, but he did look remarkably like his sister in several of their features. But not his mouth. Lyra had a very distinct mouth. Robb decided that he liked the way her lips curved, especially when he'd catch a smile in the right hand corner, hidden away as if it was never there at all.

"I do, in fact," she said finally.

"Would you tell me? No one seems to know. Or if they do, they aren't willing to share it with me."

"She was born of the sea, the Lady whose waves bring power and strength to her people. She and the Lord of the Skies, lovers in spirit, ruled this land together as one. The people who settled these lands, First Men, the same as your Northern ancestors, say that when the Lady and the Lord made love, great storms would rage through these lands. It is why our soil is so fertile and why our women are so passionate," she said with a laugh. "But when the Andals came, they purged this land of our worship. Our people were persecuted, burned and slaughter for their beliefs. Conversion or death was a way of life for nearly a hundred years before nearly no trace of the old faith, our kings were killed and we lost control of our own lands."

Robb had heard about the invasion of the Andals. About the Northern invasion called the Rape of the Three Sisters. The islands bent a knee to the Vale after than, hoping to purge the invaders from their lands. It was why, or so his father had told him, the Sistermen hated Northerners. But its history did not fare much better under rule of the Eyrie.

"But there were still people who practiced, weren't there?" he asked her and she nodded.

"The Order of the Lord and Lady was established by the last King of the Sisters. He was, Braelfyn, the King of Littlesister, the smallest of our three islands. He was also the high priest of the Lord of the Skies and received a vision upon the death of the High Priestess of our Lady. This vision is the prophecy you speak of."

"Of the second coming," Robb added.

"Yes. He said: _She will be born among the waves, brought into the world by a storm that will rage through the sisters. Blessed by the Lord, our Lady shall walk these lands among her people, until the day she will stand to unite them. Her death is only the beginning. Beneath the waves, just as she was brought forth, she shall perish. And all shall be at peace._"

The words were strange, as if they had been pieced together and deciphered. He could not understand how they would help him or how they would lead him to this High Priestess the Kingslayer's man spoke of. But Veneranda spoke them as if she knew them by heart, whereas most had refused to speak them at all.

"Does the order still exist?" he asked finally and her grin said it all.

"So they say," she replied, shrugging. "Of course Lord Borrell will tell you differently. The highborns on this island fear the Order, and the power it can bring to her people."

"Have you ever met any of them? Any followers of the Old Faith?" was his next question though he liked to think he already knew the answer.

"Oh my dear, Lord Stark." She laughed quietly. "I am sure you have noticed by now. My family's lack of religious convictions is quite obvious, is it not. We do not worship the Seven, nor do we keep shrines to the gods on our hearth," Veneranda explained and Robb noticed for the first time that she was right. No relics of any religion laid claim to their home. "My daughter," she said simply and Robb frowned in confusion.

"I'm sorry? I don't understand."

"My daughter. Petra," she replied. "She was the last High Priestess of the Order. She was also burned with the entire city watching, including Aelyra and her sister. Gavin, thankfully is too young to remember the horrors."

"But Lyra said her sister-"

"Gwyn died when the Septon's ordered the slaughtering of our family." Gavin's voice surprised him. He looked down at the boy whose eyes were now open as he looked up at Robb with a frown. "Gran tried to hide us. But they found Gwyn. And they killed her."

Robb was at a loss for words. So many mentions of her sister and Lyra had never mentioned how it had happened. Robb was not sure that he even wanted to know what Gavin meant when he said they 'slaughtered' their family.

Gavin stood from his placed on the ground, frowning at the memory of his sister and walked quietly out the back door into the night. Robb suddenly felt awful for bringing it up in the first place. But it was Veneranda's reassuring glance that eased his mind.

"It has been nearly ten years since Gwynaeth was taken from us," she explained in a hushed tone. "We lived on Littlesister then. It was a safe haven for those left in the Order. When the came for us, Petra refused to leave the others, the council members and their families who wanted to hide no longer. The Septons burned them all, even the children."

"Burned the children?!" Robb asked, aghast and the woman nodded her head once, grimly.

"They came for our family soon after. But once they found Gwyn, they gave up their search. She died three days after she was taken from the island. I took Aelyra and Gavin to the shores of Sweetsister. We stayed here with my son, this was his farm once, before he fell ill not five years ago."

"But why?" Robb asked in confusion. "Why slaughter innocent people, children who want nothing more than to practice their faith freely?"

"The Septons frown upon the old ways," Veneranda explained. "They do not understand what their faith cannot explain. The magic of the First Men. Magic that runs through your veins too, boy. Yes, yours," she told him when he frowned in confusion. "They think we practice a dark magic, that we are a danger to everyone and everything we touch."

"So they destroyed it?"

"Because they could not control it," she added.

Robb was unsure what to make of it all. It was more common, in the North, to find its people worshiping beneath the weirwood, calling out to the Old Gods. It was also not uncommon, however, to find a person like his mother who worshiped the Seven, as devoutly as his father would pray to the gods of old. But here, in this small place, there was no freedom of choice. This hellhole was a smuggler's haven, not a devout community. How would one religion, as small as it was, cause such an uproar? Especially one large enough that the Septons felt right in mass murder.

His curiosity was awakened.

Though, upon noticing the weariness in the woman's tired eyes, he opted to keep the rest of his questions for another time. As he stood he could feel the muscles in his back aching from the days work and he must have groaned aloud because he heard the old woman laugh quietly to herself.

"My Lady, I thank you," he told her, offering her his hand and she took it, gripping onto his arm as she stood.

"Please," she urged. "Call me Gran. Everyone else does." Robb smiled.

"If you insist," he replied. "Then you must call me, Robb."

"Oh good," Veneranda replied, sounding relieved. "I swear if that stubborn girl had it her way, we'd all be calling you 'Northman', the both of you. Well, this way I'll at least have a way to distinguish you from your brother."

She was full of good humor, Robb though as he lead her to the room at the bottom of the stairs, ducking slightly to open the room. The moonlight shone just bright enough that he was able to find his way in the dark and lower the woman gently on the bed nearest to the door.

"Thank you, dear," she said softly, pulling a thin blanket over her body as she patted him softly on the arm.

As he stood straight, he had not intended to look towards the other side of the room where the moonlight spilled in over the fair-haired figure on the opposite bed. Her eyes rested, her mouth slightly open as she breathed in and out at a steady pace. He did not stare long, for fear that she might wake to see him staring down at her. So he found his way out and closed the door lightly behind him.

He did not need one more reason for this girl to hate him.

* * *

The door had barely closed when Lyra let her eyes open slightly. She easily adjusted to the dark room and she watched as her grandmother fidgeted momentarily to find comfort in the small bed.

She waited, listening to the Northman's footsteps slowly ascend the stairs, the creaks of the old boards like screams through the silence. Finally he reached the loft, a few steps across the room and then the unmistakable sound of the old wooden bedframe he would share with his brother and then silence.

Moments passed and she could still hear her grandmother's uneven breaths.

"You should not have said those things," she whispered, her voice as soft as she could make it and she wondered if her grandmother would hear her at all. But by the swift shifting she could tell the older woman was turning to face her.

"And why not?"

Lyra frowned before replying, "Because now he knows too much. We know so little of him and yet you tell him everything."

"Certainly not 'everything', Aelyra. Do not exaggerate."

"He knows enough," Lyra protested. "Enough to be a danger to us all."

"I think he would beg to differ," Veneranda replied and Lyra could hear the bite in the woman's whisper. "You hold secrets from him. Secrets that he ought to know. No, don't bother denying it," she hissed when Lyra tried to deflect. "You saw something, I may not have the gift as strongly as you, but I sensed it the moment the man touched you, the same for his ward. You've seen something."

"And what good would it do for him, if I did tell the Northman?" Lyra argued, keeping her voice as low as she could and Veneranda clucked her tongue in disappointment.

"You know as well as I do, child, that there are ways to prevent what you've seen."

"But that is not always guaranteed," Lyra hissed back. "If I were to tell him now, that his father's death is coming. What do you think he would do? Hm? He, being the nobleman that he is, would run after his father and perhaps there will be two heads on pikes instead of one! Avoiding one fate only creates another. That is, if he doesn't expose us first. If he knew the things I saw-"

"You can trust the boys, Aelyra. I've felt it. If you would just-"

"No!"

The tension was thick as Lyra looked away, out the window and up at the cloudless night. The moon was not quite full, but still as bright as a torch in the night sky. Gran wanted her to touch the Starks. To see their fates. But she would not. She could not.

"You cannot spend your life closed off to everyone." Veneranda's tone was now soft. "He will want to know more, and when the time comes, you must tell him. The moment your fates crossed paths I knew there was something very special about that boy."

"My fate is predetermined. I am not long for this world, no matter how our fates intersect."

"Then the least you could do is try to make something of this all. While you still have time," Veneranda said finally before rolling over, nothing more to be heard except her breathing which soon steadied out as the minutes passed.

As the night wore on, Lyra decided now was not the best time to think of her grandmother's words. Now she needed rest because the morning hour would come soon.

And the waves would be calling her name.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, so sorry that took a while. I got completely overwhelmed by so so many new ideas in my head. I made myself focus so i could post this today so hopefully you enjoy it. I know it's not super exciting, but things will start moving along soon. Thanks for reading and please review if you have a second so I know your thoughts!  
**  
**Thanks to the beautiful reviewers**: WhatsGoingOn - always the faithful reviewer! Maybe it was your curse that gave me writers block? Nahh just kidding. Thanks for reading as always. Hopefully it will stay addicting as I continue on. Aren - Good! So glad you're already hooked. That is a good sign. Stay hooked so I can hear your thoughts for future chapters. MeisterPanda - thanks for the praise, but I can't take all the credit. I did research the crap out of places in Westeros when I came across the religion. Of course there is practically no info on in so I had to improvise. Hopefully it pans out like I plan. First Lady Lestat - I can't tell you why it's under tragedy, but please don't give up on it. So sorry this took so long. I will hurry back quicker with the next one. Anon - like the previous statement, can't tell you just yet but you'll understand, just stick with me. Jen and Len (loving the rhyming) - So glad you guys are sticking with me onto my new story! Can't wait to see what you guys think of upcoming chapters. DizzyDG - So happy you like Lyra. I adore her, even though you guys are still new to her. Can't wait for you guys to find out more about her.

Thanks for all the follows and the favorites. Continue to share the love, I thrive on your thoughts! xoLola


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